


It's Mutual

by lockedin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Chastity Device, Dirty Talk, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, In Public, Insecure Sherlock, Insecurity, M/M, Masturbation, Past Abuse, Relationship Discussions, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Scent Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Talk, Talking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/pseuds/lockedin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>For all the time Sherlock spent bringing John around to the revelation that his sexuality wasn’t something rigid or fixed, the self-proclaimed genius had done jack shit about it since.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Filling a few different requests here. First time, angst, nervous build up, Sherlock coming quickly, scent kink, and rimming.
> 
> This is the four smut fic I've written in under 24 hours. 10k+ words written in smut fics. HAPPY PENIS/PORN FRIDAY AND GOODNIGHT

As soon as they walked into the flat, as soon as they hung up their coats, as soon as Sherlock shut the door, John shoved him back into it. He’d had enough. For all the time Sherlock spent bringing John around to the revelation that his sexuality wasn’t something rigid or fixed, the self-proclaimed genius had done jack shit about it since. Now that John’s come to terms with his attraction to Sherlock, he’s only more easily aroused when he watches the man work. That night had been no exception. Not only was Sherlock on top of his game when it came to solving the case, but he had outright tackled a man who had nearly knocked John out with a pipe. After handing the baddies off to Lestrade and company, it had been, “Let’s eat” and off to Angelo’s where John spent the better part of an hour pointedly ignoring both a persistent partial erection and Angelo’s knowing smile.

John was done waiting, done trying to read signals in a man whose signals were anything but typical, when at all readable. So he shoved him back into the door and kissed him hard. After a brief moment of what John hoped was stupor, Sherlock brought his hands to John’s nape and cheek and kissed back in earnest.

When he had to stop for breath, John set Sherlock with an unwavering gaze. “Do you want to have sex with me or what?”

“Considering we only now had our first kiss-”

“No, not what I’m asking.” John shook his head. “I’m not asking to have sex this instant. Generally speaking, down the road, do you think you’ll want to have sex with me?”

The drawn out, thoughtful silence was not promising. Finally, Sherlock said in a quiet but in no way uncertain tone, “No.”

John pushed himself away from the door and paced about a metre away from Sherlock, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“John-”

“You fucking dick!” John swerved on the ball of his foot. “You nearly put me through a goddamn sexual identity crisis, just to prove I have feelings for you, so you can what? Shove it in my face?”

“John-”

“Was it another experiment? Am I just another experiment for you? Let’s see if we really can’t turn the straight man a little queer!”

“John!” Sherlock crossed the room and grabbed John’s franticly gesturing hands. He pulled them down and looked John straight in the eye. “First of all, none of that happens to be the case. Secondly, your feelings for me are not unreciprocated. Thirdly, my reticence toward sexual activities does not stem from a lack of desire.”

John yanked his hands away from Sherlock. “Then what does it stem from?”

“The inevitability that you will find me an unsatisfying sexual partner.”

John gaped. That was the last thing he expected. “You’re worried about performance?”

Sherlock sighed. “To put it crudely.”

“I’m a ruddy doctor, Sherlock. You don’t think I’d understand if you had trouble getting it up.”

“‘Getting it up’ is not the problem,” Sherlock said with a grimace.

John ran a hand through is hair. “Let’s, uh, sit down for a moment.” He walked over to the sofa, looking over his shoulder to ensure Sherlock was following. Once they were seated side by side, John managed to cool his head. “Alright, point by point. We’re both attracted to each other, right?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to pursue sex with me-”

“With anyone.”

“Alright, with anyone—because you have trouble keeping an erection.”

“Not exactly.”

John frowned, trying not to let his frustration take over again. “Then what? Spit it out, Sherlock. I’ve heard it all in med school.”

“I orgasm quickly.”

John only paused a moment before nodding. “Stamina, then. Have you ever tried-”

“Diet, exercises, cock ring?” Sherlock tilted his head back against the wall. “Yes, I’ve tried it.”

“What about sexual acts that don’t involve direct stimulus?”

Sherlock gave him a sidelong look. “If you’re asking if I can climax without touching my prick or prostate, the answer is yes.”

John swallowed. “You’re really that sensitive?”

“Once it starts, yes. I can fellate someone or finger them and, without a single touch to my own genitalia, I will reach orgasm before I can bring my partner to theirs.”

“Jesus.” John wasn’t about to admit that the imagery Sherlock provided was only adding to his barely suppressed arousal of the evening, and he was silently hoping Sherlock wouldn’t point it out. “Do you have any idea why?”

“Of course. It’s the same reason I once turned to drugs, the same reason I spend my time pouring over centuries old murder cases.” Sherlock lifted his head and faced John. “I see everything. I know precisely how my actions affect my partner. I know the intimacies of how the body processes arousal. I become flooded not only from my own, but my partner’s as well, and the effect is compounded.”

John chewed his bottom lip, slipping deep into thought. When he spoke, it was with no small amount of trepidation, “Have you ever tried denial?”

“I told you, as soon as it starts-”

“Before it starts. Like a chastity belt.”

“I never understood those. They always seemed counterintuitive.”

“It gets some people off, psychologically. But that’s not what I’m getting at here. I’m thinking, with a chastity belt, you could spend time enjoying yourself and not worrying about coming so quickly. Then, when everyone’s ready for a good orgasm, take it off.”

In that moment, the change in Sherlock’s expression was akin to how he lit up upon figuring out the key in a particularly tricky case. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” John grinned.

Sherlock shot to his feet.

“Where are you going?” John grabbed his hand.

“Research!”

“Right now?”

“The sooner I obtain a suitable chastity device, the sooner we can have sex.”

John’s stomach flipped completely. “Wait.” He gave Sherlock’s arm a tug.

Sherlock sat and frowned. “What?”

“So you’re changing your answer?”

“I thought that much was obvious.”

John nodded. “Alright, my turn then.” He leant forward, one hand squeezing Sherlock’s thigh. “Before the chastity belt, I really, really want to see just how fast you come.”

“Why?”

“I have an insatiable curiosity. Also, listening to you go on about sucking other people off has me stupidly jealous.”

“You want me to suck you off?”

John grinned. “Eventually, but, for tonight, I had something else in mind. If you’re willing. But first.” John surged up, kissing Sherlock a second time. His partner was far more receptive, this time grabbing John’s waist and pulling him half into his lap. John grinned against Sherlock’s mouth.

“You’ll be a ways off when I do reach orgasm,” Sherlock muttered apologetically.

“I think I’ll manage.” He dropped his hands and began undoing Sherlock’s belt and trousers.

Sherlock reciprocated, leaning his face into John’s neck and inhaling deeply. “I love how you smell.”

“Do you?” John leant his to the side to give Sherlock more room.

“Without cologne. Right before you shower. When you smell most like you.”

John slid his hands below Sherlock’s trousers and under the elastic waistband of his pants.

Sherlock pulled off John’s vest and jumper in one fell swoop, and went instantly back to nosing John’s neck, further up this time, right under his ear. “I’ve come fully clothed and in public on six separate occasions from your smell alone.”

John’s breathing hitched. “You have?”

“Mm.”

“When?”

“I could tell you know, or we could save-”

“Save it.” John tugged as Sherlock’s trousers and pants until the man lifted his arse off the sofa enough for John to slide the clothes off.

Sherlock was already hot, hard, and leaking. He looked at John, face flush, but no longer embarrassed. “It won’t take much.”

“Better not waste time then. Lie down, on your stomach.”

With a curious little frown, Sherlock obliged. John manipulated his legs and hips until Sherlock’s arse was at a good height, shirt slipping down the slant in his back toward his head. “John?” Sherlock’s voice was a little strained.

“Never done this?”

“I have, but I’ve not had it done to me. I’m usually the more active participant remember?”

John smiled and kissed Sherlock’s rump. “Not tonight.” He spread Sherlock’s arse and leant in to lick the length of his perineum.

Sherlock muffled a moan in his arm.

“I want to hear you,” John said, letting his hot breath ghost over Sherlock’s hole. He licked the perineum again, and this time Sherlock’s moan was clear. John smiled to himself before running the tip of his tongue and a circle, gradually spiralling in until he was dead centre and pressed into him.

John had barely wet the inside edge with his saliva when Sherlock’s body jerk and he came with a broken cry. He pulled away and reached around to take gentle hold of Sherlock’s cock. He hushed him gently, kissing low on his back, and stroked him through his orgasm. When it had run its course, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and rocked both of them back onto the sofa so he lay with Sherlock on top of him.

“I might have stained the sofa,” Sherlock murmured.

John chuckled. “We’ll flip that cushion.

After a moment, during which Sherlock’s breathing evened out, he said quietly, “You can fuck me, if you want.”

John was surprised and felt heartache at Sherlock’s words. “You’re sweet, but there’s no way I’d do that to you, and you’re an idiot for offering.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Your prostate would.” John squeezed his arms around Sherlock. “I don’t mind that you come quickly. You don’t have to offer yourself up like that to compensate for it.”

“It’s fine.”

John frowned. “Have you let others do that?” When there was no reply, John pressed his forehead into Sherlock’s back and sighed. “Christ, Sherlock. For a genius, you’re a real idiot.”

“It seemed… fair.”

“Well it’s not. It’s not fair to you. Whoever did that to you in the past—just don’t ever give me names, because I won’t be able to promise against causing them bodily harm.”

Sherlock started pushing himself off John, so they repositioned to sit side-by-side again. Sherlock’s guilty gaze kept drifting down to John’s open trousers and the erection pressing out against his pants.

John took Sherlock’s face in both hands and lifted his face. “I said I wanted to get you off. I went into this with full knowledge, and I was fine with. I’m still fine with it. Don’t feel bad on my account. I sure as hell don’t.”

Sherlock nodded. “Turn around.”

John frowned, but it was his turn to oblige. He sat cross-legged with his back to Sherlock, who at once positioned himself at John’s back, legs on either side of him. “Sherlock?” John said tentatively.

“Masturbate. I’m going to help you.” Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist and began kissing the back of his neck.

John didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled his aching cock from his pants and gave himself a firm stroke. With a sigh of relief, he leant back against Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock kissed the curve of his neck before nuzzling the spot. “The fourth time was on the Tilly Briggs.”

John’s breath caught when he realised what Sherlock was talking about. He started stroking himself in earnest.

“We’d been at it for days. You hadn’t showered in two, though you did a good job of hiding it. It was still in your hair, though.”

“What was?” John said breathily. His eyes were closed now.

“Your smell, pure and untainted by shampoo. You had put on a mild cologne to distract any suspecting nostrils, but your hair still smelt wholly of you. We were coming up from the galley and you tripped on the stairs. Fell back straight into me. Your head was directly under my nose.” Sherlock inhaled again, this time behind John’s ear. Then he lifted his mouth to whisper, “I came before we finished climbing the stairs.”

With a low groan, John came into his hand. Sherlock kissed him behind the ear and hugged him tight around the waist. John slumped against Sherlock’s chest. “Christ,” John muttered. “Was any of that true?”

“Completely.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“I might be in love with you.”

“Is that the endorphin rush talking?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so.” John leant his head back to see Sherlock’s face. “I think I really fucking love you.”

“Your feelings are not unreciprocated.” Sherlock smiled and kissed John’s forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the next several months, Sherlock shows John every spot where John's scent has made him come in his trousers, publicly, undetected.
> 
> Then he gives John the opportunity to experience the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So bewds (fuckin' bewds man) gave me the idea on the original story to write the five other times Sherlock publicly came in his pants--and then one time Sherlock made John do it.

Sherlock spent two days bemoaning about how he’d never be able to go out in public now that he and John had had sex—of a sort—because now he could hardly look at John without thinking about it and all but come in his trousers. John told him to stop exaggerating, despite the part of him that enjoyed bringing Sherlock to his knees—figuratively and, eventually, literally. Then Sherlock’s chastity cage arrived and he had been insufferable ever since. 

He began dragging John out of the flat for no other reason than to bask in his inability to get hard. He started sniffing John at the most inappropriate and public moments. His hair, his neck, his wrists and hands. He completely ignored the glaring John directed to him, and, in turn, John was forced to ignore the odd looks they received.

On the less awkward side, the sex was amazing. Foreplay could last ages, anything from desperate snogging and clothed rutting to mapping out each other’s bodies with fingers and lips and tongues and teeth. Sherlock was particularly fond of foreplay, as he had never before been able to experience and enjoy it in full. He would vary between touching John every but his most sensitive spots, and asking John to do the same to him. He revelled in John’s touch, relished the sensations without having to worry about coming. Only when John was getting close would they unlock Sherlock’s chastity cage, and John would fuck him in earnest, having already prepped him, or one of them would suck the other off while wanking, or any number of things. It left Sherlock giddy, beyond the simple endorphin rush. In turn, John couldn’t feel more contented.

Two months after their first sexual encounter, they were working a multiple homicide. They were waiting outside Lestrade’s office for the DI to show up. Sherlock suddenly leant close to John and whispered in his ear, “Here.”

“Hm?” John looked at him, by then completely unfazed when Sherlock took a whiff.

“Three and a half months ago. The double garrotte homicide.”

“What about it? You don’t think it’s connected, do you?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes before all but pressing his lips against John’s ear. “You’d come back from the conference in Amsterdam only a few hours earlier, but you insisted on joining me on the case. Your scent was so quintessentially you.”

John’s eyes widened with realisation, and it took quite a bit of force not to react beyond that. “Here?”

“This spot. You were leaning against this wall. It was intoxicating.”

“And you—here?”

“The fifth occurrence. It was hours before I could get back to the flat to change.”

“Christ.”

As if on some damned cue, Lestrade showed up waving a folder. “Two suspects.”

Sherlock straightened up. “Is one a locksmith?”

Lestrade stopped dead. “How did you-”

“It’s the other one.” And like that, Sherlock leapt into his explanations and deductions while John stood there trying to breathe properly.

 

A few weeks later, they stopped in at one of John’s favourite Thai restaurants for lunch. Sherlock seemed oddly particular about which table they sat at, and made John wait twenty minutes for the current occupants to vacate. Not until their food had arrived did his reasons become evident.

“Number three,” he said as John took his first bite.

John gave him a confused look.

“I was filling you in about the missing ledger.”

“The drug ring one? I still hate that you took that case.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It was interesting.”

“Right. So what about it?”

“Number three. I was waiting in this seat for you. You showed up, having obviously just had sex with your current girlfriend. The one with the nose.”

John coughed and snatched up his water.

“You smelt of sex.” Sherlock lowered his voice further, both in volume and octave, “I even surprised myself with how fast I came.”

John only made it through half his meal before giving up and dragging Sherlock home to fuck him against the nearest flat surface, which happened to be the wall.

 

By the next time Sherlock brought it up, a few weeks later, John was alert and waiting for it. They were in the morgue, and Sherlock was wrapping up an elaborate deduction for Molly and Dimmock. He didn’t even stick around to boast before grabbing John’s hand and dragging him away. He ignored John’s questions until they reached an empty lecture room and Sherlock pushed John forcefully into a specific seat.

“Number two.”

John’s breath caught.

“Stamford had invited you to a lecture, and you brought me along. We’d only been living together a couple months. You didn’t say so, but you thought it would be a good bonding experience beyond solving murders. You dropped a pen, and your head with right past me when you leant down to pick it up. I thought I could control it, and I nearly did.” Sherlock leant forward on the armrests on either side of John.

John looked up at him, breathing fast and shallow.

“But then you leaned over to whisper something to me.” He brushed his lips against John’s ear and whispered, “And I came in the very seat you’re in.”

“Oh god,” John groaned.

Sherlock inhaled deeply and his dextrous fingers flipped open John’s belt and trousers in a second.

“Sherlock!” John yelped, immediately regretting the loud noise.

“No one’s here. Only you and I, and a memory of pleasure.” He pulled off one glove and slid his hand through the opening in John’s boxers. He pressed his lips to John’s neck and alternated between kissing and nipping and taking ludicrously deep breaths.

“God,” John panted, pushing back into the chair, head thrown back as Sherlock stroked him. “Sh-Sherlock. I c-can’t—oh god—can’t—quiet-”

Sherlock covered John’s mouth with his other, still-gloved hand. John latched onto it with his hands, sealing the leather tight over his mouth as he inhaled sharply through is nose. He inadvertently caught Sherlock’s gaze, watching him so intently with is hand down John’s pants. John lurched against the seat and came hard, muffling his cries in Sherlock’s leather-clad palm. Sherlock gave his sensitive prick one last, very light stroke with his fingers before closing up John’s trousers and buckling his belt. He dropped into the chair beside John and began licking off what ejaculate had gotten onto his hands.

“You’re a monster,” John huffed.

Sherlock only grinned and gave his fingers a good long suck while staring John straight in the eyes. John groaned and sank lower into his seat.

 

They were walking through Regent’s. No case, not even one of Sherlock’s lurid attempts to gloat secretly to John about his chastity cage in public. He insisted on that much later, that he hadn’t started with those intentions. They were even holding hands, simply enjoying the day.

Sherlock paused suddenly, staring across the path at a bench. John gave his shoulder a gentle nudge. “Alright?”

After a moment, Sherlock nodded to the bench. “You fell asleep there.”

“Did I? When?”

“Two weeks before we kissed. We were supposed to be working a case, interviewing people-”

“Harassing, in your case,” John teased.

Sherlock ignored the comment. “We got into an argument.”

John frowned and squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “About what?”

“It was the first time you admitted your feelings for me. It wasn’t the most pleasant of circumstances.”

John gave a solemn nod, recalling the incident. He’d started yelling at Sherlock in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, enough for everyone to give them a wide berth or completely change which direction they had been walking to avoid them. Sherlock had been pestering him about sexuality for the umpteenth time, until John finally snapped and told Sherlock he’d won, that maybe John did have feelings for him, but it was no excuse to be such a dick and force a confession out of someone. He’d stormed off after that.

“I found you sleeping here and woke you. Our fight had turned any potential sources of information off from talking to me. I was frustrated, but I knew it was my fault.”

“I shouldn’t have blown up at you.”

Sherlock smiled. “Yes, you should have. You were right. I expected you to still be mad when you woke up.”

“I wasn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking, so I sat down and let my brain sort through everything. It was exhausting, in a lot of ways. I drifted off.”

“You grabbed me and made me sit down next to you. You said you were sorry.”

“So did you.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to be. You told me I was right, and you had been scared.”

“I was.”

Sherlock looked briefly away from the bench to John. “Are you still?”

“Aside from the sex, I’m holding your hand in public. What do you think?”

Satisfied, Sherlock turned back to the bench. “You said you were scared but you did care about me, beyond friendship. You put your head on my shoulder.” Sherlock leaned his head back and took a shaky breath. “I couldn’t control it. It was the first time I felt guilty, ashamed for it, in years. Since I was an adolescent.”

John grimaced, but he wasn’t angry. “It’s alright.”

“You were there, and all I could smell was you. And you were so close, and it wasn’t right-”

“Sherlock.” John tugged his hand until Sherlock looked at him. “It’s fine. I mean, if you’d told me then and there, it’d be a different story. But it’s fine. I understand now, and I love you.” He leant up and kissed Sherlock softly to emphasise his words.

 

Six months after they kissed, Sherlock took John to Roland Kerr College. It was odd, for John, to see it in the day, not covered in police cars and ambulances and police tape. Students and faculty walked to and fro, no one looking twice at them.

“Do you remember my comment about the powder burns?”

“Of course.”

“Right before I said that.”

“Hm?”

“The first time.”

“Really?”

“Your adrenaline was pungent.”

John grinned. “Right in front of all those officers?”

“The worst part was when we ran into Mycroft. I’m fairly certain he could tell.”

“That must have been awful for you,” John chuckled.

“Infuriating.” Sherlock turned to John. “Couldn’t be arsed to care too much, though.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“You still smelt terribly good.”

John laughed and squeezed Sherlock’s hand.

 

It wasn’t a particularly interesting case, at least not from what John could see. He doubted it even ranked a five for Sherlock, but the man had insisted on taking it anyway when Lestrade came knocking.

As they climbed out of the cab at the scene, Sherlock handed John his phone. Attached to them was a pair of earbuds. “Lestrade sent this. It’s a message on the victim’s voicemail that was received less than an hour before the murder.” He didn’t wait for John to listen through it, so John pressed play while he followed Sherlock to the scene.

 _“I want you to know what I feels like,”_ Sherlock’s voice was low and clear, as if he were whispering directly into his ear. John pressed pause and his eyes snapped up to the man himself. Sherlock only gave him a glance before going ahead with examining the body and scene. John pressed play. _“It won’t be as easy for you as it is for me, but I know you can accomplish it. It’s good practice, keeping your appearances under duress. I’m sure an accomplished surgeon and soldier like you can manage without difficulty._

Sherlock, the Sherlock on tape, proceeded to relive each and every time John had made him come. Not only the times in public—though he skipped the one from Regent’s—but in private as well. He detailed every time he had ever fantasised about John: in his dreams, in his bed, in the shower, on the loo—sometimes at home, sometimes in a public stall. He recounted their times together, tying in all the times he had, to his knowledge, made John come. He even referenced a few occasions when he had deduced John’s own self-pleasuring with thoughts of Sherlock. By the time Sherlock on tape was finished, John’s cock was straining painfully against his trousers. He had managed to stay collected, occasionally wetting his lips and nothing more. He kept his eyes trained on Sherlock, as he would at any crime scene. Sherlock, for his part, was doing an expert job of drawing out his examination and deductions. He didn’t even look at John. He wouldn’t have to, John realised. He knew exactly how long the recording would last.

John was sure it was over when Sherlock finished describing the night before last. There were odd breaks in the recordings that indicated Sherlock had had this planned for some time, adding every successive time they so much as got morning wood.

 _“I suspect you’re fully aroused by now, but you still haven’t climaxed. If you have, you can stop listening. If I’m right, and you’re standing there watching me with significantly dilated eyes, a rapid pulse, and an aching cock, keeping listening.”_ John swallowed and kept listening.

_“When we get home, I want to take you apart. I want to undress you to your core until you’re begging. I want to spread you out in the centre of our bed. I want to suck you until you’re close, and then I want to finger you until you’re open and desperate. I’ve bought something. It’s a harness that fits over my cage, a strap-on. I want to fuck you with it. I want to fuck you to the edge. Then I want to fuck you with my own cock. I want to come inside you and jerk you off and make you come on yourself. I want to be inside you. I want you to feel me inside you, like I feel you inside me every single day. Look at me. Right now, regardless of what it looks like I’m doing, I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about your cock inside me, about you will always be under my skin.”_

John had to find the nearest wall and press his shoulder against it. He stuffed his fists in his jacket and kept his stare solidly on Sherlock. As the last words were whispered in his ear, Sherlock looked right at him, and John came. He came without a single touch. He came with only Sherlock’s voice in his ears and the pressure from his trousers. He swallowed down any sound he might have made. His head spun and his eyes lost focus for a minute.

When he pulled the earbuds out, Sherlock was waving Lestrade away, saying something like, “No, it was definitely the nephew.” He wrapped his arm around John’s waist and guided him home. Forty-some odd minutes later, Sherlock did exactly what he said he would, and, this time when he came, John screamed.

**Author's Note:**

> No I'm not writing a chastity belt sequel. I've been fucking traumatised by a fic for those things. We don't talk about it.


End file.
